


Birthing Blurred Lines

by GalekhXigisi



Series: The Tails of The Serpent Prince and Princess [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Not Beta Read, Rape Recovery, Trans Jughead Jones, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:12:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Personally, this is not how I wanted the chapter to turn out. I had so much more planned out, much better written, I just can't seem to force myself to just fucking write it. Not to mention my computer is being an absolute c u n t.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oscar8583](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oscar8583/gifts), [Meisme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meisme/gifts).



Jughead learned a lot when he was young. When he was only seven, he learned how to take a hit without coughing his lungs out, as he’d seen countless of his mother and father’s friends do when they attempted it for the first time or after taking too long of a drag. His father had been exceptionally proud, leading him next into how to take a shot without damn near vomiting or gagging in the least. His own mother had been in on that, Gladys smirking as she showed him how to throw it back. The laughter had filled that house that night, though none of it was from the child himself. In truth, he hadn’t wanted the shot or any of them that followed, but what he  _ did _ want was to liked by his parents, cherished in the way Archie’s father did for him, ruffling his hair without the harsh stench of alcohol on his breathe. However, he knew he couldn’t dare achieve that in that time, not while his mother still whispered into his father’s ear, not while alcohol constantly plagued his system. 

 

When he was newly twelve, he had set fire to a few papers, watching them burn in the middle of the street. A few of his-at the time-friends smiled, laughing as flames coiled around the lines paper, followed by a couple old math books from when he was young. He was pretty surprised when the police showed up, but the fire had been a  _ desperate _ cry for his parents to notice him, notice something  _ other _ than each other or work. 

 

He knew very little about the truth of his school, simply running with stoned ass teachers and mess filled halls. For him, it was no better than at home, where messes were left until both his parents had left or were passed out, forcing himself to clean up the home as best he could with incredibly limited supplies. 

 

Jughead knew the truth about his parents. He had learned it young when he first realized he was much more mature than both of them, shattered beer bottles scattered around the trailer and blood dripping onto the floor from shards that pierced the skin. He was the one to clean up the mess, his mother passed out on the couch with spit running down her face and her mouth wide open. His father was at the White Wyrm, as ‘sober’ as he could be considered. By sober, Jughead meant having downed at least three beers, never much under. He understood that he worked in drug transport, the Serpents being in that sort of business for years upon years of life. And his mother worked at a  _ Fix-It Shop, _ though she was one of the three only employees, running most of it all by herself, owner far out of town. It didn’t take a detective to know that some sort of drug was being sold there, considering there was rarely ever actually a car there to be fixed, though the inside was furnished with expensive furniture. 

 

He went with Officer Keller willingly, damn near smiling as he went. He took full blame for what he’d done, arrogance just being one of his claims. Keller only shook his head as he took the newly twelve-year-old into his custody, the judge saying that he would take a plea with a sentence of three months in juvie. Things had progressed from their, things getting icy between him and his parents, as well as between parent and parent. 

 

Things shifted in that time when the second round of teenagers came in two days after he had. He had watched the tallest come in, a fifteen-year-old with bright, blonde hair. He didn’t look rough enough to fit in with the rest, though Jughead supposed he was one of the few  _ out of town _ newbies that didn’t know who did what here. He began talking to the younger that day, things progressing into a cold friendship relying basely on lies Jughead had told and the older himself. From what the younger had found out through simple observations, the other had stabbed his girlfriend, though why he hadn’t found out. That would be something he would find out with time. 

 

Unfortunately, that time came just a week after they were ‘befriended’ and stuck in a room together, not a cell, considering other boys were there with the two. Jail cells only held five people, at most, while this one had twelve beds and eleven inmates. Jughead had been pressed into the bed, silent sobs leaving him, forced down by a napkin pressed to his nose and mouth, chloroform drenching them. He did his best not to breathe, considering he didn’t want to fall asleep and wake up naked in front of nine other people, his sex suddenly identified as  _ female _ to all the others. Only Keller knew, and he made it his mission for the others not to find out. But the preteen still passed out, waking with his clothes messily thrown on the others stinking of sweat. They had been out for the communal gym, after all. 

 

He went and found Keller the next day, talking through to him about what happened with the blonde,  _ why _ he was in. The inmates all knew why each of them were placed in, just petty theft and one having stabbed his abusive mother, completely understandable by all eyes.  _ He stabbed his girlfriend for refusing to have sex with him, _ Keller had explained in a hushed voice. The other stayed silent, bated breath stopping him from continuing on. His silence ensued for a month. 

 

The only thing that stopped Jughead from his continued streak with the light bump on his stomach, a gentle bloating. He stared at it, full body mirror occupied by his image in the boys' bathroom. He took note of the blood that had soaked his thighs the  _ first time _ any of that began, his stomach suddenly felt all too big, an anxiety attack being spurred on. However, he forced himself down as quickly as possible, hands laced together and fingers popping. The pain of stretching his fingers too much, crackling as the bones slowly began to fracture brought him back down, bringing him to a comfortable medium. Only then did he blab to any of the guards, a plea to get the fuck out of there, or at least away from  _ him. _ Things changed for Jughead that day, as he sat in front of Keller, tears thickly running down his cheeks as he rambled out what had happened, how many times it had happened, even all the dates. However, he didn’t explain the bump on his stomach or the incredibly absent menstrual cycle that he had grown accustomed to since he was eleven, preferring it that way to avoid the dysphoria that came with it. 

 

He saw his parents at the three month mark, out finally. Getting out with the slight bulge on his stomach was not part of the plan, not in the least. His parents took note of his sudden change in personality instantly, though, watching him as he stayed silent, hands playing at his jacket. Neither dared ask him what was wrong, waiting for him to say something. He called for a trip to the gynecologist at some point, insisting on a visit thanks to his drop out menstrual. FP had decided to go, being the one that knew how to handle his sons panic attacks much better than his wife, who still used the name  _ Florence, _ despite it being changed when Jughead was seven and had come out. 

 

“Alright, Forsythe,” the woman, doctor Annie spoke out, “you said you have been sexually abused, incredibly recently as well. We’ll have to do an ultrasound, just in case there are any risks. If that comes back positive, we’ll have to send you out to the Planned Parenthood Center to see what you’ll do. I can’t give too many options here.” 

 

FP was fully sober, not a beer in his system that day, marking it being the first time in years, since Jughead’s birth, that anything like that had happened. His eyes widened as he looked at her, trailing out of the room with the promise of a nurse bringing them water to fill his blatter, making the ultrasound easier to see. 

 

Jughead stared at his lap, at the tiniest bump. Doctor Annie had already said she would give him birth control pills as a start out for the first two months of his newfound menstrual, considering he had only had one and it had been almost a year and a half ago. She had said that build up put him at incredibly high risks for certain cancers, most of which were life-threatening. Hell, the possibility of bearing a child itself was also life-threatening, but something he took into his own hands, something held in his own hands. 

 

The only words passed between the two for the next thirty minutes were, _ Will you please refill the cup _ and  _ Here. _ Things were shifting under them as Jughead sat his shirt up, hands awkwardly held at his side while he laid on the table. The woman was silent as she took the ultrasound with professional hands, humming softly as she ran over a certain spot, hot gel turning the place read, burning the skin. He suddenly wished it were freezing instead. Her lips pursed, running over the bulge. The big screen held clear pictures of a fetus, bringing tears to burn the twelve-year-old’s eyes. He closed them tightly as she took countless pictures. 

 

“Would you like me to print out some pictures for you,” she asked in a soft voice, kind despite the news she brought with her. He forced a nod, sniffling softly as he brought up a hand to wipe his eyes. “Alright, I’ll be back in a few moments. Feel free to use the restroom and such. The will be back with me soon.” She left the room with worried eyes, dripping with concern. 

 

FP looked over to his son, only to be waved off as Jughead stood up, moving to the restroom with more tears in his eyes. When he came back, his father was in the same spot, arms open, inviting his son in. Hee accepted for the first time in _ years, _ soft cries leaving him until he forced them down, nails digging into his skin, forcing it all down with pain. By the time the nurse and doctor were back, his hands were covered in red marks, a few scratched under his sleeves bleeding, though the doctor and her colleagues didn’t need to know that. The pictures were delivered, as well as a scheduled appointment for Planned Parenthood handed off. FP silently agreed that he would stop his drinking, at least long enough to help his son get the hell through all of this. 

 

Gladys, however, had other plans, a snippy attitude being what greeted them at the door as Jughead slipped past. His mother’s hand caught him, fingers digging into his skin, leaving bruises near instantly. “Hey, what in the  _ fuck _ happened out there? I have to work and now both of you are giving me the cold shoulder? What the shit?” 

 

If Jughead had any sort of ice centered powers, ice would certainly be piercing her skin, centered through the palm of her hands, grounding her to the shoulder as blood dribbled down. He certainly would’ve snapped a witty comment, though his father beat him to speaking, saying, “Gladys, give the kid a break, alright? It was a tough day.” 

 

“Tough day? I just worked for twelve hours at a time, it’s not like she’s pregnant, she’ll be fine.” 

 

Despite the fact that the sentences didn’t completely make sense in the order they were worded, Jughead still heard them loud enough, clear enough. He slapped his mother’s hand away, taking his stance to yell. “I’m a fucking  _ boy, _ Gladys! And so fucking  _ what _ if I’m actually pregnant, it’s certainly not any of your fucking business, you can’t even raise me properly, Hell knows you’ll be worse with another kid!” The youngest in the home felt his hands curl together, nails piercing skin once again. “I’m going to stay with Archie tonight,” he declared, stomping out of the house. 

 

Neither of his parents dared stop him, a fight erupting between the two just as quickly as it had with the youngest. Jughead was running, listening to their yells fade, his mind fading as his footsteps got quicker, as well as the span between breaths. By the time he got to his friends home, he had tears tracking down his cheeks in thick trails, sobs leaving him as he fwumped in. Instead of Archie greeting him, he found Fred Andrews, a cup of coffee in his hands. 

 

Fred knelt beside the sobbing preteen. “Hey, Jug, what’s wrong?” Jughead had come to the home countless times, a simple runaway. News of his arrest had spread quickly, between the Jones and Andrews homes alike, Fred being the first to know. Fred knew when things got tough at home, he sought comfort in the home that was near perfect, despite the fact Archie’s mother was rarely home. “Are things rough at home right now?” 

 

Jughead nodded, fists pressing to his eyes harshly as he choked out sobs, Things were going to change, their dynamic different as Jughead dropped the bombing knowledge about what happened in juvie, why he had been gone for an extra month instead of coming to see the family sooner. He had missed them, of course, but things were difficult and he couldn’t dare drop that much on his best friend. He made up a lie, saying he was out on good behavior, but not for long, but only telling Fred he’d tell Archie that. He was going to go off the grid for the next few months until the child was born and his family got things together. Thankfully, when his mother had gotten pregnant the first time, she had disappeared too, so it wouldn’t be odd if the family suddenly did as well. It only aided them as his mother declared on Facebook,  _ Pregnant with my second child, already four months in, _ for all of Riverdale to see. That had spurred on another panic attack, knowing he was being backed into all of this. 

  
  
  
  


Archie didn’t ask questions as to why Jughead was on the couch, instead he greeted him with a wide smile and a bear hug. Jughead liked that about Archie. He never asked questions, always waiting until the other friend its time to tell him if something was or was not up with him. He only pressed when needed, when something was troubling him but needed to be spurred on. He had a connection to the preteen that the others in Riverdale didn’t, knowing many of his ticks and fidgets was countless didn’t. Their dynamic was always comforting, thankfully. 

 

Jughead told him he’d be going back to juvie soon, which brought a disappointed huff from the carrot top, though he smiled afterword and said they should spend as much time together as they could then, instead of fucking around like they knew they would. They sat on the couch, binge-watching shitty, old horror movies that used to be popular, whether it be because they were so shitty or so ‘great’ in their time was unknown. They both found comedic relief in it, the scene much calmer than the one in the trailer. 

 

In the trailer, he knew his parents were fighting. He knew there would be countless broken plates from the two throwing them at each other, shattered against walls and skin, some even breaking flesh. Jughead had a thick scar on his arm from his mother, where he had attempted to get in the middle and stop them. Instead, he was greeted with a piece of glass from a cup. It had been aimed for his father, for his father’s _ crotch, _ no less. He had stared in horror as the blood fell down his arm, thick and red. Tear-filled eyes looked up at his parents, _ begging _ them to stop fighting, offering to do anything he could for them to stop. He had blamed himself for their fighting, still did, always would. He especially would, considering things had only gotten worse from then on out. 

  
  
  


Planned Parenthood was surrounded in people, all holding signs as the two walked up to them. Some yelled while others threw things. Jughead, unfortunately, was greeted with a rock smack dab in his eyes, bruising instantly. FP was sure to press his son before him quicker, pushing him into the building while people yelled outside about how what he doing was  _ sinful _ and  _ a murderous act on a child. _ He didn’t listen to any of it as a woman rushed forward with a frozen sponge in hand, pressing it to Jughead’s eye. 

 

She frowned, glaring at the door. “I’m sorry… There’s a reason clinics that offer abortions are incredibly limited. We’ve called police countless times, but this seems to be something every clinic goes through, they can’t do much.” Her anxious attitude was one Jughead took note of as he watched her ramble. “Oh, by the way, I’m Doctor Anistine, I’m the one that runs everything here. I see the patients. Are either of you two patients?” 

 

“I am,” Jughead held up his free hand, “Forsythe.” 

 

She perked up with a smile. “Alright, let’s get you signed in, then we can go over options.” She lead them to a desk where a man sat in a chair, legs folded as he typed quickly. He signed them in without a hitched, just taking their names and having them fill out a couple of papers. In truth, it didn’t take too long, thankfully. They all seemed incredibly polite. 

 

“Welp,” Anistine clapped her hand together as she shut the door. “There are… Options, many of them, in fact. Well, not really. There is, of course, having the child and raising them, but you’re also just a child, so I’m not sure what your options there would be. You can take a legal claim against the father, have him give custo-” She saw the way Jughead frantically shook his head and stopped, “Or not! There are also abortions, arranged homes, orphanages, et cetera, et cetera. I’ll take it you’ve researched some of this, considering you seem pretty in the loop.” 

 

Jughead nodded. “I’m having the child,” he spoke softly, “I just need options after that.” His hand went to grab at the back of his neck, hand fisting at the hair there. 

 

Her eyes bulge. “Are you _ sure _ that is what you want? There are many risks to this, Forsythe.” 

 

He begrudgingly nodded. In truth, he didn’t  _ want _ to go through with any of this. His chest was already growing larger, painfully so that his binders were forced into this by his mother. She had whispered threats, threats to out him and get his name changed back to  _ Florence _ if he didn’t. It brought bile to his mouth at the memory, especially the way his father’s eyes widened. They had spoken of abortion days prior, agreed that that was the route they would take. That, however, was before his mother took over with her threats. 

 

“Well… There are a lot of risks.” 

 

“I know. I’ve read up on them.” He had gone to the library for hours, reading up with burning eyes and a tightness in his chest that constricted his breathing. The rest of his time had been spent doing school work, something his mother enrolled him into after her threats began, getting him into online classes, not that he wasn’t already when he was in juvie. Things began changing. 

 

“Alright. There will be diet changes, a lot of them. And, as you tell, your body will begin to grow awkwardly.” Doctor Anistine began to list off risks, changes. Each one made it harder and harder to save himself from sobbing. However, he stopped himself with thick nails pressed to his palms and wrists, blood staining his fingertips. Things had already changed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jughead awoke with sharp pains in his stomach. He must have laid on the couch for at least an hour, denying his blatter the joy of being emptied. After what felt like forever, he stood up, greeted with a flood of  _ something, _ coating his thighs. He looked down and pursed his lips.  _ Did I just fucking piss myself? What the fuck? _ He moved forward to the bathroom, light still flickered out. In the other room, his father laid on the bed, passed out. Surprisingly, he had stayed sober the whole nine months of the pregnancy. He was proud of his father, in truth. 

 

He paused as a harsh cramp shot through him, suddenly frowning in the mirror. He had already showered, somehow fitting it in that _ if _ he did pee on himself, that required a shower to _ not _ be absolutely disgusting. He stared back at himself in the mirror, taking note of the way the-

 

“Oh my god,” he spoke up. He moved through the home, pressing his hand to his father’s shoulder, shaking him awake. “I think I’m going into labor,” he spoke out as more of a question than anything. His hands wormed their way into the pockets of his hoodie, a frown on his features. “I mean, I’m not sure, but it’s really possible. I think my water broke, too? Either that or I pissed myself. Again, both are possible.” He gave a shrug. 

 

FP frowned at his son. “Well, are you going into labor or not? I need to know.” 

 

Just on time, the boy doubled over, a sharp contraction making him grapple at the adult’s shirt. He scoffed once it was over. “I’m either dying or going into labor, maybe even both,” he joked, despite the pain that filled his abdomen. Harsh kicks plagued his hips, burning. When the  _ Hell _ had they gotten so close? How long had he been in the bathroom? 

 

FP stood up. “I’ll call a doctor, I guess? Maybe your Mom? She might know if you’re in labor or not, I don’t know? She knew she was in labor instantly.” Despite the calm facade, the younger could tell he was nervous, standing up and moving quickly to swipe up his phone. The number was dialed instantly, ringing exactly two times before his mother picked up. “Hey, Gladys, how do you know it Jug is  _ really _ in labor? Neither of us are sure.” 

 

There was a mumbled response on the other side. Jughead took note of the way his father tensed up, glaring daggers into the wall. “Yeah, well, he  _ isn’t _ a real woman, so, cut the crap and tell me if you know how to tell or not. He’s your son, too, and this  _ could _ kill him.” Her response was garbled, anger clear as the anger that radiated off of the Serpent King. 

 

“Jug, how far apart are you-” The younger punched the bed at a harsh contraction, one of the very first punches FP knew would be thrown that night. “Roughly two minutes, got it.” Another garbled response. “Have you had any leaking?” The adult cringed at the wording. The younger nodded. 

 

A few more questions were asked, all ending with nods. In the span of five minutes, the three had definitely concluded by the harsh kicks to his pelvis and the fact that,  _ Holy shit, how did you shower with contractions and  _ not _ kill something.  _ His mother had snarked out some laughs at her son, something that neither of the boys took kindly to, though they never had. FP may have been an asshole, but at least he was a supportive one that knew when to and not to call his kid  _ son _ or fuck right off. However, his wife did  _ not. _ Jughead suspected a divorce would happen soon, like his friend Sweet Pea had blabbed about before juvie, angry at his father for _ something _ before switching topics about how amazing his brother was. Things had been confusing and chaotic, in truth. 

 

FP hung up and turned to his son. “I’ll get the bag and meet you out in the car in a second, okay?” The younger nodded, making his way out of the home with his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He felt some sort of anger boil in him, though he pushed it down in favor of supporting himself on the walk down to his mother’s truck, something they usually had at home _ just in case this situation came up. _ Thankfully, his father had insisted on that, and now with good reason. He could hear his father thrashing around the trailer for a while before he came out, large bag in hand, filled with random shit and  _ Hell knows _ what the fuck else. The preteen wouldn’t be surprised if a canteen of liquor had been thrown in, but that was none of  _ his _ business. 

 

The preteen turned to his father, frowning. “I think I need to explain myself,” he more asked than told once again. 

 

FP shook his head. “No, you’re a boy.” 

 

“That’s not what I mean.” A harsh contraction caught him off guard, knuckles suddenly greeted with the plastic of the dash. “I-I mean that… It wasn’t my  _ choice _ to have Jellybean,” they had been calling the baby that, though it suddenly seemed to be sticking, “it was actually mom’s. She said if I didn’t,  _ everyone _ would know about my birth name and… And I don’t want that. Only Archie and his parents and a few of the Serpents know. I-I-I can-” 

 

The older placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder, a look in his eyes that brought fear to the younger. “Now, listen, Jug. Once we get to the hospital, I don’t want you saying  _ shit _ to your mom, got it?” Jughead was sure to nod at the anger seeping into his voice. “Would you have kept them if she wouldn’t have?”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t know? Probably not if I had been asked then, b-but now I  _ do _ want them.” His fingers drew different patterns. 

  
  
  
  


The hospital was chaotic when they saw Jughead’s busted knuckles, yells leaving doctors as they insisted on checking his busted up knuckled instead of the stomach that was close to popping. Every contraction had ended up in Jughead punching the dashboard, distracting one pain with another. He would admit that it may have been a shitty idea, but shitty ideas seemed to be his favorite thing. He was but in a hospital bed and given countless different things to numb him, worried doctors explaining the medications to him before he eventually told them to  _ Just shut the fuck up and get on with it, I’m about to fucking pop. _ After that, they had rushed to get him prepped for his c-section, especially considering _ Holy shit, their feet are out, doctor, the babies feet are out. _

 

Natural birth was  _ not _ an option for the preteen. He already knew his body was fucked up, but, honestly, he preferred a scar on his stomach to a scar in between his legs. He had been told countless times by both his mother and a couple of older women, retired Serpents that it was far worse to have your crotch ripped open than your stomach neatly cut. However, they hadn’t exactly told him that his organs would be placed outside of his body, though he suddenly wondered what in the  _ fuck _ he expected. They had to get to the womb some way or another. 

 

Hours upon hours turned into a day and a half of screaming and whining,  _ begging _ Jellybean to just be  _ fucking delivered _ because the doctors were beginning to worry about whether either of them would survive the birth. Jughead had two needles in his arms, one blood and the other medication. His parents had already both been escorted from the room, forced out after Gladys showed up drunk and yelling, insisting that she  _ hadn’t _ forced anything upon her  _ daughter. _ It was more FP forcing her out than anything, but it still caused the others to worry. The youngest, however, was still forcing himself through the torture called  _ childbirth. _

 

He held the baby in his arms, listening to her sobs. “Hey, Jellybean,” he whispered, watching her fists curl around the beanie. She seemed to calm down after that. The three doctors still in the room, however, sported worried looks. 

 

The tallest, a woman that seemed to be youthful and new to all of this, pressed her fingers together, concern lacing her features. “We have to do emergency surgery, Forsythe,” she eventually spoke up. “We don’t want to interrupt your bonding since that's very important for development in their life, but we need to operate. You’ve lost too much blood. Would it be okay if you stayed awake during the surgery, since you’re already numb and-”

 

Jughead calmed her nerves with a soft, “Yeah, it’s okay, go ahead.” She pulled up from her awkward position to signal the others to get to work. Despite the expected worries of his surgery, the preteen was calm, almost in his own world as he spoke with the baby. He seemed so relaxed. None of the nurses wanted to bring up the fact that he was in  _ critical fucking condition.  _

  
  
  


The papers were signed,  _ divorce _ papers, to be specific. There stood the declaration that Jughead Jones and his child would both be in FP’s custody, being the guardian over both until Jughead was of legal age to parent Forsythia himself. There was a glare between the two adults as they last saw each other, though it lightened when he saw his son, child in hands. His bed had been changed, as well as his clothes, now new and  _ not _ doused in blood. 

 

“Forsythia,” the older Forsythe asked with a smirk as he stalked into the room, “you couldn’t pick something better?”

 

The other shrugged. “Well,  _ someone _ has to have the name. Forsythe, Forsythia, it’s all the same with just a couple of letters being added or taken away and replaced. But Jellybean seems like a pretty good nickname. She even responds to it.” 

 

He scoffed. “Babies also respond to anything that moves, Jug. it’s just baby nature.” 

 

Jughead shrugged with an affectionate smile on his lips. “Do you want to hold her,” he asked, offering the baby to him. 

 

FP did a once-over of the preteen, suddenly catching the dark eye bags that had formed after hours of birth and open surgery. Begrudgingly, the Serpent King scooped up the baby, teetering his hips side to side in a rocking motion. “She looks just like you, Jug.” 

 

“She’s  _ blonde, _ dad.” 

 

“She’s got your eyes, though. And your nose.” He tossed a smile over to the tired preteen. “You look like shit, Jug. You sure you’re not ready to pass out?” 

 

He yawned, shrugging. “I am, but… I feel like if I fall asleep, something  _ bad _ is going to happen.” 

 

Call the two male Jones that they were way too into that superstitious bullshit, but as two people that were raised on the  _ rough _ side of town with at least one parent ruling over the Southside Serpents, they knew superstitions usually ended up correct. It was a little worrisome that he said that, though FP kept rocking. 

 

“I don’t know, kid. I’ll do my best to keep you and Jellybean here and safe, but if the doctors take her or something, there isn’t much I can do.” 

 

Jughead gave a slow nod, pressing into the uncomfortable bed. He yawned one last time before letting his eyes fall shut, still focused on the baby girl he had birthed only a few hours prior. 

 

-

 

The trailer was calm as the four settled once again, glass swept up in favor of keeping a cleaner household for the baby. Forsythia, thankfully, doesn’t seem to mind the dim lighting. Instead, big, brown eyes scan around the place, amusement seemingly playing on the infants face, border lining curiosity. For the first time in years, Jughead had genuine  _ hope _ that their family would be okay, that despite the divorce, things would  _ maybe _ even out. His mother was moving out, taking shared custody of the preteen. Wherever he went, his  _ sister _ was sure to follow, whether it be held in his arms or near him, she was always by him. 

 

Jughead watched her grow the first few months, blonde hair darkening more and more. Her eyes seemed to change tints as well, something he found extraordinary, despite it being common. Things were amazing with the family, even if his parents glared when they passed each other or the Serpents seemed to come around more and more often. 

 

However, there was a sudden shift in his mother. He witnessed her change before his eyes, flipping like a switch. She no longer entertained the idea of him staying, instead, taking care of Jellybean instead of him. He knew that would come, though, it was something he had to expect. She was the one that wanted her, after all. It still left an ache in his chest at knowing so, though. 

 

And suddenly, the day marking two months, she was gone, as well as Jellybean, just barely old enough to even exist by herself. He was given the news by his father, who sported tear-filled eyes.  _ Jellybean… Your mother left with her this morning.  _

 

Jughead stared at his father, attempting to arrange a timeline in his head. He silently fought with himself over the topic,  _ knowing _ they couldn’t do anything outing Jughead. If one policeman knew about Jughead’s  _ sister, _ then so did a few more, along with the newspaper, the whole  _ town _ knew about what was in his pants and what was once in his abdomen. Things would spread and he didn’t need that. Even the Serpents themselves - the ones who originally protected their own - didn’t have much of a chance of doing anything. If one went to retrieve the baby, so did the whole calvery. If that happened, Gladys wouldn’t hesitate to pass on information that couldn’t dare be denied thanks to the deep scar under his stomach. 

 

Things change that day, that day where Jughead leaned against his father and let out defeated sobs, painful and forcing his body to shake and jerk. That shiny, brand new hope left him as he realized things  _ wouldn’t _ fix themselves, wouldn’t go back to how they were, never in a million years. The family was broken, forced down by an uncaring mother and half-assed father. 

  
  
  
  


FP Jones can’t dare imagine the pain his son is going through at that moment. He remembered waiting and waiting, calling Fred Andrews the instant he heard the doctor announce _ It’s a girl _ to him and his wife. He had called and sobbed out, _ Fred, Fred, guess what? _ He didn’t give the other time to even breathe,  _ It’s a girl. Forsythia Pendleton Jones, Fred. She’s a girl. _ He had been so proud, sobbing with pride. 

 

Years turned the man from a caring Serpent King to a cold one, no longer protecting his true family. Instead, he made sure he did what was best for the Serpents and the White Wyrm. However, the instant Jughead declared to the adult he was a  _ boy, _ the adult called his friend once more.  _ Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third, Fred.  _

 

He may have been a drop out for years, but he still _ loved _ his son, incredibly so. He valued his opinion on things. He valued his opinion on himself as a man. He couldn’t dare imagine how much this must have hurt his son, losing a child despite knowing they were still alive but so fucking far out of reach. Why had things shifted so easily, so quickly? They weren’t supposed to do that. 

  
  
  
  


Archie didn’t question Jughead, not prying at all. The two teenagers could sit in comfortable silence, curled up together with the younger in the redhead’s arms, held in a tight hug. He was always there to help Archie, listening to his troubles and giving his best advice on how  _ not _ to get emotionally played. He watched the older’s love life crumble to pieces before him, typical childhood bullshit that just  _ happened.  _

 

None of the Andrews questioned him on anything, not about the deep scar that twisted along his stomach or the unexplained stretch marks that weren’t caused by his thin frame. They didn’t question him when he stayed over more often than not, showering with the lights off and taking refuge in a spare sleeping bag on Archie’s floor, occasionally his bed when nights took a turn for the worst. No matter how reserved Jughead was, they always kept open arms for him, inviting him in when things were the worst and his mind was nothing more than static thrown across memories. Even after it went from three Andrews to two, they helped out. Fred kept absolute silence about firing his father as well, thankfully.

 

Despite their inevitable fallout, Jughead relished their friendship as much as he possibly could, glad that someone had his back in such shit times. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, this is not how I wanted the chapter to turn out. I had so much more planned out, much better written, I just can't seem to force myself to just fucking write it. Not to mention my computer is being an absolute c u n t.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to put this all into one chapter, however, it was getting pretty long and the writing was getting sloppy, so I decided to stop. 
> 
> Constructive critism only
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Instagram: Dav.ender or Todorokishootme or Assbutt666
> 
> Tumblr: Transheman or GalehkXigisi
> 
> Discord: Shooketh Whomst#2679
> 
> Twitter (SFW): DavenderLav
> 
> Twitter(NSFW): DaveyWinchester
> 
> Riverdale Amino: Davender
> 
> Yubo: davender
> 
> Kik: AdrienSatan


End file.
